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by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 03:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: When things are tough, there is always one person Clint can turn to, only one person he can trust.





	Home

_So now I come to you _

_ With open arms _

_ Nothing to hide _

_ Believe what I say _

_ So here I am _

_ With open arms _

_ Hoping you'll see _

_ What your love means to me _

_ Open arms _

* * *

** _After Budapest - Date Classified_ **

Clint wasn’t sure how he ended up on her doorstep at four in the morning, palms flat on the hard oak, head hanging, wondering if he should knock or get back on the bike and drive away. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left, since she’d told him she couldn’t live with the uncertainty anymore. He missed her, her absence a hole in his heart that couldn’t be filled.

After a few minutes, torn between his head and his heart, he made his decision, turned and started down the sidewalk.

The porch light came on, illuminating the front yard, and the door opened. He spun on his heel as soon as he saw the light out of the corner of his eye.

“Clint? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he signed. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I heard the motorcycle,” she replied. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, took two steps closer, and then he was in her arms, his nose buried in her hair, his arms around her waist, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know where else to go. I couldn’t...you’ve always been there for me with open arms and I...I just needed you, needed you to know that your love still means something to me. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything, she just took his hand and led him inside. Minutes later, he was stretched out on her bed, buried under the covers, hugging her close, his eyes closed, chasing sleep.

* * *

** _Two Days after the New York Incident, 2012_ **

You’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, watching the news, watching the city of New York, just like everyone else in the country. You were hoping to catch another glimpse of Clint, desperate to know if he was really okay. You’d been calling him non-stop since the city had come under fire, your worry for him ratcheting up with every new story. He had yet to return your call.

You’d just laid down on the couch when someone started pounding on one of your French doors, the damn thing shaking under the onslaught of the beating it was taking. You stumbled across the room and yanked it open, irritated, angry, and out of patience, until you saw who it was.

“Clint,” you gasped, throwing yourself into his arms, tears leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

You pulled away from him so he could see you, not sure if you could speak. “I’ve been so worried about you,” you signed, your movements short and abrupt, reflecting your anger. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sorry,” he signed back. “I’ve been a little busy.”

You rolled your eyes, opened the door all the way, and gestured for him to come in. He stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen. He pulled a beer from the fridge and popped it open. He drank half of it before setting it on the table.

“Come here,” he said.

You did as he asked, stepping into his arms and sagging against him, clinging to him. You hadn’t realized how worried you’d been until he’d stepped through your door. Days like this made you wonder how the two of you had drifted apart, how you were able to live without him. Days like this made you want him back.

* * *

** _After the Battle of Sokovia, 2015_ **

“I’m done, I’m out,” Clint signed. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m retiring.”

She narrowed her eyes, her head tipped to one side. “_ You’re _ retiring?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked.

“Yes,” was her reply.

Clint shook his head and laughed. “I came here for a reason. I want to talk to you about something, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she nodded, a wary expression on her face.

“Can we stop playing this game? Stop whatever the hell it is that we’re doing, put it behind us, and live our lives as one. I can’t live without you. I want you home.”

She fell back a step, her mouth falling open. He grabbed her hand before she could run, holding it tight. He pulled her close, his arm sliding around her waist.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, his nose brushing hers.

“Then do it,” she whispered.

* * *

** _The Raft, 2016_ **

“You promised me that it was over, that you were done.” Your voice trembled as you desperately held back the tears. “You swore.”

Clint opened his mouth to speak, but you held your hand up and shook your head. “No, don’t. No more promises, Clint, no more half-truths.” Your hand rested on the swell of your belly, absentmindedly rubbing it. “You need to come home. I don’t know how, but you do something, Clinton Francis Barton. You figure out how to come home to us.”

You couldn’t take anymore, couldn’t stand there looking at your husband for another minute, so you spun around and banged on the door, begging to be let out. It opened and you followed the guard away from the holding cells and down a long corridor. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Tony, though your mind was probably playing tricks on you. Pregnancy brain.

Once you were seated in the helicopter, the tears came, streaming down your face and soaking your collar.

You let them fall.

* * *

** _The Snap, 2018_ **

Clint could see them, out the window, in the garden, his wife and daughter picking tomatoes in the garden. He looked down for a split second and when he looked back up, they were gone. He called her name, but she didn’t answer.

He burst through the back door, not caring that the glass in the small window broke when it bounced off the brick wall, or that he was in his bare feet, the rocks cutting into the sensitive skin. He hit the corner of the house, but there was nothing to see but fields for miles, the wind blowing dust in circles through the air.

“Y/N? Frankie?”

There was nothing but silence. Painful, deafening silence.

He spun in a circle before sprinting back to the house. He shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed the bow and arrow tucked behind the door. He wasn’t supposed to have it in the house, wasn’t supposed to have it at all, but what the government didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. His ankle bracelet was beeping like crazy by the time he reached the road, but he didn’t care. He would find his wife and daughter if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

** _The Blip, 2023_ **

You opened your eyes to find yourself sitting on the ground, Frankie standing beside you. You were reaching for a tomato that wasn’t there; instead, you saw nothing but dirt and dust where your luscious garden had once stood. You rose to your feet, your daughter in your arms. Behind you, the door to the house was wide open.

“Clint!”

You hurried up the path that was no longer there and inside. Nothing in the house was disturbed, though a thick layer of dust covered everything. A quick glance behind the door told you that Clint wasn’t here; his bow and arrow was gone, his shoes too. You pushed a hand through your hair and set Frankie down. Clint couldn’t have gone far, he was wearing his ankle bracelet. The FBI would have shown up if he’d left the perimeter of the farm. You wandered through the house, just in case, finally stopping in the kitchen. You snatched your phone of the counter, intent on calling him, but it was dead.

“I just charged it this morning,” you mumbled. You dug through the kitchen drawer, found the charger, and plugged it in, waiting a few seconds for it to come to life. Once the light came on, you opened it and hit Clint’s name in your contacts, waiting impatiently while it rang.

“B-babe?”

“Clint, where are you? What’s going on?”

“Oh, Jesus, is it good to hear your voice. Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. Is Frankie there? Is she okay?”

“I-I don’t understand what’s happening. The house, the garden, Clint, it’s all different, weird. Please come home. I need you. _ We _ need you.”

“I’m on my way.”


End file.
